


Run and Never Tire

by summerstorm



Category: Disney RPF
Genre: F/F, Kink Meme, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-21
Updated: 2009-05-21
Packaged: 2017-10-05 10:49:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerstorm/pseuds/summerstorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's like this: Demi has two weeks off, and decides to spend most of that time at Hollywood Center.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Run and Never Tire

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt at tweendom_anon.

It's like this: Demi has two weeks off, and decides to spend most of that time at Hollywood Center.

The whole. . ._thing_ starts off easy, like, it doesn't fly any flags or ring any bells in Selena's head. Demi just smacks her butt once, soft, jokingly, a silly grin playing on her lips as she makes her way across the Wizards set. Selena doesn't react because she doesn't have time to—because she's distracted and, by the time she turns around, Demi's talking to a cameraman, or a cameraman is talking to Demi. Besides, Selena's not done writing notes down on the script, so she leans forward again to keep doing that.

It doesn't take Demi long to repeat it—she doesn't do anything on her way back across the room, the ass-smacking thing is thankfully not that much of an ingrained habit, but later that day Selena films a scene, she's done, she drops a bracelet she was toying with, leans over to pick it up instead of ducking down, and Demi gives Selena's butt another dry, easy smack on her way to the toilet.

Selena doesn't say anything because, again, she doesn't have time to—and because it doesn't _mean_ anything, and Demi deserves to be silly sometimes. Even when it weirds Selena out a little. Because, yeah, Demi grabbing her ass, that's not news—that's practically routine—but the smacks are a little too Mad Men for Selena's taste.

Still, she doesn't get an actual chance to confront Demi about it until two days later in her dressing room.

"Yeah, about that—" Selena begins, signaling at the empty space behind her.

"What?" Demi replies, sounding distracted. Really distracted. Like she's not even smacking Selena's ass willingly because it's unconscious because she's so distracted, and maybe that Secretary movie was burned too deep into Selena's brain or something, because there's no other explanation for why she's _noticing_ something so insignificant, or why she's noticing it now—Selena's almost sure Demi's done it before, even, but she can't remember anything specific, just has a vague recollection that it's happened.

And Selena may tell Demi all sorts of stuff, put things into words even when her actions speak for themselves, but this is not one of those things. "Nothing. Never mind. Is that a new episode?" she says, pointing at the script Demi's dropped on the armchair.

Demi nods subtly, just a light tilt of her head, her eyes not meeting Selena's—looking at her mouth instead. Then she walks up to Selena, buries a hand under her hair, and kisses her.

Selena smiles against Demi's mouth.

She loves this sort of kisses, slow and transient, just lips against lips once and again, and Demi's hips surging subtly forward so their bodies—their thighs, their chests—meet.

The hand on the small of her back traces downward patterns until it settles on top of Selena's ass, and see, _that_ is normal—that Selena doesn't see anything strange in. Demi acts the same way about this that she did about the butt-smacking: not even acknowledging it afterwards because it doesn't warrant special treatment.

Selena really shouldn't give it this much thought.

Shouldn't doesn't mean doesn't, though, and she finds herself prolonging the minimal sting of Demi's every touch to the small of her back or her thighs or her hips, the warmth spreading by virtue of paying too much attention.

She's a bit weirded out, maybe, because it's so tacky, really; she's always found it tacky, something out of either a bad porno or sixties sexism, and it doesn't matter that Demi's a girl and they have the official BFF status to justify it to the rest of the world—it still _feels_ tacky, in theory, even when it's subtle like this.

That's why she can't stop paying attention.

*

The first clue that this is not shaping up to be just Selena being weirded out by something unusual is that one minute she's quietly going down on Demi, and the next minute an image of herself on all fours, ass marked red by Demi's hand, pops up in her head, and she can't, she just physically can't _not_ touch herself.

*

It's stupid, how a week ago spanking seemed like such a stupid thing that Selena couldn't take seriously at all; how she didn't even consider it could be a turn-on until now, until she's making out with Demi on the couch in her dressing room. Demi's hand slides down the back of Selena's pants, her fingers trying to reach the line where her thighs begin, and and Selena finds herself pushing up into it, down to break the contact—a worthless move, what with how the pants bring Demi's hand down with it—and up again, and at some point—the fourth or the fifth time, Selena thinks in retrospect—Demi catches on and pulls away with a chuckle.

"What?" Selena's suddenly wide-eyed, feeling a sort of clarity that wasn't there a second ago.

Demi chuckles again, and even when she speaks there's an amused half-grin plastered over her face. "You like it, don't you?" she says, giving Selena's cheek a squeeze.

". . .no." Selena blinks back into consciousness. Her eyelashes seem to weigh more than her entire body, and she's been holding herself up on her elbows for like five minutes.

Demi purses her lips and untucks her hand from the confines of Selena's pants. She eyes Selena suspiciously, with a barely raised eyebrow. "This?" she asks, smacking Selena's ass ever so lightly. So light that Selena can barely feel it and isn't turned on by it at all, that's how light. Maybe this is her out—her cheating lightbulb in the middle of the tunnel or something. Run, Selena, run.

"Maybe," she says reticently. She wants to run, all the time, but there's something about Demi that feels like running away from her is no different than running away from a thought—something about her that makes it okay for Selena to act like herself around her—so she doesn't. She never does. She puts it off, sometimes, with all the intent of getting around to it, but it never happens. "You think it's weird?"

Demi seems to think about it for about two seconds before she's grinning and saying, "No, it's hot," and pulling her down to nibble at her earlobe, lick the back of her ear the way that makes Selena purr a little. "No weirder than that," Demi whispers into her ear, sounding amused, as she disentangles her face from Selena's hair.

Selena half-shrugs, half-smirks, shaking her head in disbelief, taking any residual seriousness out of the situation, not that there's a lot left. Demi laughs and tilts her head up, and Selena ducks down to miss her mouth and scrape her teeth along Demi's neck instead, earning a sigh, before complying and kissing Demi for a couple more minutes, until Selena's called back to set.

*

A few days later, they're in Demi's bedroom, and Demi's sitting back against the headboard, with Selena straddling her thighs and licking inside her mouth, one hand on Demi's forearm and the other cupping her ribcage.

Demi tugs at Selena's lower lip with her teeth before breaking the kiss.

"Move over, I'm cold." Selena raises an eyebrow, feeling a little offended. "I'm just gonna grab a t-shirt."

Selena scowls, her smile surging back, her nose involuntarily crinkling for a second, and takes a couple steps back off Demi on her knees.

Demi has no trouble crawling out from under Selena, and it seems kind of unfair. It takes Demi all of thirty seconds to get her shirt on, though, which compensates for Demi's refusal to take a hint.

Besides, when Demi climbs back on the bed, her hand makes a beeline for the back of Selena's thighs. It slides up to her ass and tugs at the edge of her panties with a fingernail, scraping skin; Selena's breath catches in her throat, and her head falls forward between her arms.

Demi lets out a breathless laugh behind her. "Really?"

"Shut up," grumbles Selena.

"Oh, come on, it's fine."

"It's not fine. It's _weird_."

Demi hmms. "Not really, is it? Unless that's why you like it. Do you like it because you think it's wrong? That's so dirty," she says, clearly holding back laughter. "That's so dirty, Selena, you should be ashamed of yourself." Then she smacks Selena's ass again, not very hard at all, and the dry sound of it—the hand against fabric rather than skin—almost manages to muffle Demi's snort. Almost.

Selena laughs, hiding her face in the pillow. She takes a deep breath, mumbles, "Not like that, no," and resurfaces just when Demi's saying, "Really," and her hand collides with Selena's ass again.

The moan that escapes Selena is so long and deep that, even though it takes her a few seconds to realize that strong, needy sound is coming from herself, the sound hasn't yet ended when she does.

"Oh my God, you're serious," Demi breathes out, suddenly not laughing so much.

Selena's face contracts into an ashamed grimace. "I just—" she begins, glancing back at Demi.

The mattress settles under Demi's advance.

She's definitely looking curious now—looking at Selena's bent knees and upwards, where Selena's getting wet and feels more exposed than she has around Demi in like, ever, despite the fact that she's wearing boy shorts and there's nothing actually _exposed_ per se, except for the back of her thighs. Nothing that'd be inappropriate in a beach context or anything, anyway.

She still lowers her chest, accentuates the curve of her back, and Demi mumbles accordingly. "Jesus," says Demi, and Selena feels herself pulse.

She snuggles her head into the pillow and tilts her hips back up, _hinting_.

"Really?" Demi says, sounding nervous.

Selena mumbles into the pillow, and can hear Demi take a deep breath behind her.

The next slap is sudden, much stronger than before, _loud_, and the impact shoots down Selena's thighs like wildfire—down to the back of her knees and back up, a warm tremor between her legs—and then again, and again, until she's gasping.

"Oh God," she breathes.

"Not God," mumbles Demi, "just your very accepting girlfriend," as she reaches out to draw a trail from the back of Selena's neck to the small of her back, where her underwear's digging into her flesh. Demi tugs at the elastic, pulls and lets go, chuckling softly before peeling the fabric off Selena's skin.

There's no sudden breeze or anything—both her body and Demi's room feel _hot_, and so does Demi's palm as she slides Selena's underwear down to her knees, drags it under her legs and off her feet.

Selena groans, a small sound of need, and props herself up on an elbow to get her other arm under her chest, her hand towards her belly—except Demi somehow manages to yank her arm out and over her back before her fingers can meet skin.

"Nuh-uh."

And Demi, left hand pinning Selena's wrist to her hip, slaps her again, firm, like it's gonna leave a mark for a couple hours at least, like this time she means it, has a good reason to—and if Selena didn't desperately need to be touched before, she does now. She spreads her legs wider, forming an upside-down V with her knees, and the next time Demi spanks her, her hand stays there, almost seemingly making an attempt to part her cheeks before sliding lower, where Selena feels slick and ready, Demi's fingers slipping forward not quite accidentally—a nail grazing her clit.

Selena pushes back, trying to get friction from Demi's palm—but it's not long before Demi's fingertips are on the job, drawing irregular, tight lines around and across her, minimal but constant, until Selena's shuddering and coming with a moan stifled by how dry her throat feels at this point.

"That was awesome," she mumbles when her brain starts functioning again. She feels Demi's hair, first, then her wetness on her calf, and Demi's hand lets go of Selena's wrist before Demi recollects herself and releases Selena's foot.

Demi's still half-dressed, pajama t-shirt and yellow panties, lids looking heavy over her eyes, so Selena just goes for it, not very subtly flings herself across the bed and pulls at Demi's underwear until Demi decides the whole thing deserves the herculean effort on her part of giving Selena room to take off her panties.

Selena may or may not purr a little as she bends her knees under her body and ducks her head down between Demi's parted thighs.

"Oh," Demi whimpers, hand flying to grab softly onto Selena's hair, pruney finger stroking the back of her ear.

Selena keeps her thumbs on the inside of Demi's thighs, brushing soft and intentional to get Demi quivering under the touch, so close to the place Selena's tongue dives in momentarily.

Demi makes constant noise, not loud, but perfectly hearable to Selena's ears—feeble like sobbing, almost, progressively lower as the tension works up.

After a couple of minutes—maybe more, maybe less, Selena's awful at keeping track of time when she's doing this to Demi, but her mouth feels just fine—Selena repositions her legs, lowers her back, and when she looks up at Demi's face, she's openly staring forward and beyond Selena's head, wide-eyed, mouth slack. Selena sucks on her clit, presses on with her tongue, sucks again, and Demi immediately shivers against her mouth, her belly going stiff.

Selena resurfaces, wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, reacquaints herself with her panties.

*

Demi blinks up at her.

Selena chuckles. "Don't tell me this wasn't your intention all along."

"It wasn't," says Demi with a frown.

"You totally just got off on it."

Demi smiles softly. "I didn't. I mean, not on the spanking thing. But I don't mind if you like it."

"Because you so don't," says Selena.

"I don't know, I'm kind of neutral about the spanking thing," says Demi honestly, "but as you may have noticed I'm pretty fond of your ass, so I'm, you know. Totally on board if you have a _thing_." She shrugs. "I'll just tag along."

"Tag along, my ass," says Selena offhandedly, and immediately wishes she could punch herself, or stop being so unfiltered or something.

"Well, we did just prove my hand fits nicely on it," Demi says, nodding cockily.

Selena rolls her eyes, lies down on her back. It barely stings a little—Demi's is not a very painful hand. It's more the principle of the thing, what turns Selena on so much. "I walked right into that," she accepts, not even the tiniest bit embarrassed.

Demi's mouth shapes into a smirk, but it vanishes the moment Demi falls to her side, bed screeching a bit under her, knees up to her belly, grazing Selena's hip. "Does it hurt?"

Selena pretty much guffaws. "You did not take it seriously enough for that."

"Well, now that's just sad," Demi says, clearly lying through her teeth.

Selena shrugs. "You'll just have to try harder next time."

Demi snorts. "Yeah, right."

"Dude. You like my butt and you cannot lie," she—sort of—raps.

"Okay, but please, for the love of God, don't go on."

Selena sighs loudly, exhales, yawns. Drifts off to sleep.


End file.
